


Pay More Attention

by BotchedExperiment



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 00:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BotchedExperiment/pseuds/BotchedExperiment
Summary: Part of him thinks he's been waiting for Margo and Quentin to give up on him.





	Pay More Attention

**Author's Note:**

> Can't believe I actually wrote a magicians fic. I have no excuse for this and I'm kinda nervous but we're posting anyway because I've got nothin' to lose.
> 
> Set sometime in season one but let's not think too hard about when or how, yeah?
> 
> Enjoy!

Eliot wakes up in the middle of the night with a headache and a shitload of confusion.

There are quite a few mornings where he doesn’t remember going to bed the night before, but this is the strangest, Eliot realizes, because he's alone and he feels _terrible_. Blurry memories of yesterday surface, of feeling almost as terrible and deciding no one else needs to know. He groans, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head.

"You're awake?" Quentin rushes in as if he's been waiting for some kind of signal. "How uh- how are you feeling?"

"Horrible." As Eliot thinks about it further, he realizes how cold he is despite the blankets piled on top of him and… is he still wearing his clothes from the day before? His shirt is tight and uncomfortable against his oversensitive skin. It's gotta go.

"Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question."

Eliot gets a glimpse of the hallway through the open door behind Quentin as he unbuttons his shirt. Everything is dark throughout the cottage with no signs of blasting music or Todd doing something stupid. "What happened to the party?"

Quentin stares at first as if Eliot should remember, mouth opening and closing as he decides on what to say. "You passed out in the middle of it," he finally answers, body language suddenly becoming tense.

"And everyone went to bed?"

Quentin shrugs. "I guess it brought down the mood, or whatever. Maybe they went somewhere else." He's never really cared about what happens with the cottage's parties. He clears his throat pointedly. "Can we go back to the fact that you _fainted_? Eliot… you were burning up. Like, your fever was fucking high."

That doesn’t sound right, does it? He remembers feeling a little warm and chalking it up to the alcohol. And then feeling shivery and deciding to blame that on the alcohol as well. He probably could have paid more attention to his own body (but in all fairness, that always ends with _'huh, this is probably something serious I should ignore'_ ).

"Well that's strange, isn't it?"

_"Eliot!"_ The harsh tone coming from Quentin catches him off guard, and Eliot's mouth snaps shut. Any reassurance that he's fine has been lost on his tongue. Quentin's eyes are so furious and scared and Eliot can't believe he's the one making him feel like that. "Would you quit it?"

"Do you mind being more specific?" he hardly has a chance to stop himself from sounding like a dick. Quentin groans, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed and burying his head in his hands. He looks exhausted, now that Eliot has a closer look at him.

"Quit acting like you're fine when you're not," it comes muffled as he rubs his face tiredly. "I'm so sick of having to pick apart everything you do and say because if I don’t you might end up-" Quentin chuckles dryly, painfully, and Eliot's heart breaks. He's spent all this time trying to keep people from worrying, and what does it result in? More fucking worry. Quentin sighs. He picks up his head and looks at Eliot with watery eyes. "Margo too, by the way. She doesn’t show it, but you're scaring her."

Eliot stays silent for a long time, lips pressed in a thin line. There's nothing he can say to make it better. Quentin's right. After a while, Quentin sighs and stands up.

"I'll get you some water or- or something…" and he can't leave the room fast enough.

Eliot fidgets with the hem of a blanket, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He didn’t mean for this to happen. He didn’t mean to upset the two most important people in his life. He didn’t think it would be a big deal!

As promised, Quentin returns with a bottle of water and a some kind of over-the-counter painkiller. He hands it over and watches intently as Eliot swallows two pills.

"They'll bring your fever down and stuff so you can sleep."

He's reminded how tired he really is. He wouldn’t usually think of sleeping in his nice clothes, but it's already done and he can't be bothered to do anything besides remove his shirt. Moving makes his muscles cry out in pain, something Eliot hopes the medicine will help with soon enough.

"Q…"

Quentin runs a tired hand down his face. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be-"

"Quentin."

"What, Eliot?" Eliot's heart breaks a little more when he hears the way Quentin's voice tightens. He's trying so hard not to lose it.

All of this over a dumb fever. "I'm sorry."

Quentin throws his hands in the air as if he's giving up. "I just- I don’t get you, Eliot. Like, just stay in bed like everyone else does when they're sick."

Eliot huffs out a laugh.

"Seriously. What were you thinking?"

"I wasn’t. I mean… I thought it was just a cold and I suppose by the time everything got worse I was just drunk enough not to notice." Quentin gives him the most exasperated look and he can't blame him. Lately, he's always been too drunk to notice. Anything. Ever. Part of him thinks he's been waiting for Margo and Quentin to give up on him.

Quentin's tearful gaze is enough for Eliot to start tearing up too. This was it. This was the emotional breaking point for them, some ridiculous fainting spell that apparently made them think he finally went and died on them.

"I'm really fine now, Q. I promise." Disbelief. "No, I'm serious. How was I supposed to know that a scratchy throat was going to turn into that?"

"I-" Quentin shrugs, breathing out an exhausted sigh. "I don’t know. You just- _fuck_ you scared us."

"I know."

Maybe everything needs to come out into the open and get resolved, but not tonight. Eliot's tired, and it's like four in the morning, and he's pretty sure Quentin hasn’t slept yet. So, he pats the other side of his bed, and the other accepts immediately. They end up cuddled, and having a warm body to cling to dissipates Eliot's chills.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!


End file.
